


steel and oak

by helvetica_upstart



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, Frottage, M/M, Making Out, Oral Sex, Roleplay, SO FLUFFY, post Singles Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 12:03:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18660070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helvetica_upstart/pseuds/helvetica_upstart
Summary: “Would you have picked me up in a bar, if I'd been there back when you were looking for randoms?” Patrick asks, pupils blown wide. “I’ve never done that before, I don’t even know what it would be like, but. I can imagine. I'd want it.”or,David has some idle talents; Patrick has some fantasies that would put them to use.





	steel and oak

At noon, Patrick walks into Rose Apothecary even though it’s his day off. David can’t help but perk up with his whole body, zinging at Patrick’s presence as though it had been years since they’d seen one another, not hours. Like Patrick is his sailor boyfriend and David waits atop lighthouses to see ships against the horizons at dawn. It’s a sexy fantasy except David would miss him and there’s no way he’d be up that early every day. So maybe just like Patrick is his boyfriend, and David got torn away from his sleepy embrace by the merciless god of opening.

Patrick’s eyes are warm and fond. His hands settle on David’s hips and he pulls him belt-first closer for a chaste kiss. After, he just nuzzles his face against David’s jaw like a drowsy kitten, murmuring, “Hi.”

So this has been unexpected. David thought he’d been getting the full Boyfriend Experience from Patrick before, but things have been cranked up to eleven since they exchanged _I love you_ ’s a few days ago. It’s been domestic, the types of gestures David would expect from old wrinkly couples who’d been together for decades, small precious things.

Like this.

“I brought you a ham and cheese croissant,” Patrick says, holding up a paper bag. It only takes one inhale to know it’s from David’s favorite place in Elmdale. The whole world turns buttery and flaky and golden.

“I love you,” David says fervently.

“I always knew food was the way to your heart,” Patrick says, and he's still cuddled up into the crook of David’s neck, but David knows exactly what smug face he’s making.

David pulls back, cradling Patrick’s jaw in his hand. “I was actually talking to the croissant.”

Patrick laughs at that, a real one from his belly, jostling in David’s embrace. So David pulls his face closer and kisses him: he can’t resist it. It’s lingering and sweet, Patrick’s plush lips against his own, David stroking his thumb along the smooth line of Patrick’s jaw. He traces his tongue against the seam of Patrick’s lips, just teasing. He feels Patrick’s pleased hum beneath his fingertips.

Stevie interrupts them as she stomps her way out of the back. “See, this is why I need this more than you do.”

She’s brandishing a basket of leftover Singles Week merch that David had set aside for _private_ reasons, every item that David had noticed catching Patrick’s gaze. The products had all sold out, and some of these were difficult to source — David wanted them, so Stevie can’t have any, no matter how desperate she is to get laid.

Patrick lets go of David’s belt loop, taking a polite step back. David inhales through his nose, annoyed. He says, “You’re like a pop-up ad with a virus, you know that? What does it take for you to go away?”

Stevie sets the basket on the counter with a thud. “You know exactly what. Ring me up, I’ll pay for it. Full price.”

“Those aren’t for sale,” David says, watching a red flush sweep across Patrick’s ears. “I’ll pay for your long Uber ride off a short bridge.”

Stevie turns to Patrick, because they all know he’s the weak link here. “I’m so single. I need to go to a bar to find some short-term company.”

“And you need organic warming lube to do that?” David asks. He knows he sounds shrill, but really, sourcing these products was hard work and he deserves to enjoy it, dammit.

“I need a confidence boost to do that,” Stevie says. And that, David does understand. He’s substituted proper coping mechanisms with spending sprees for most of his adult life. He’d buy new underwear and get a wax instead of clearing out edible body oil and pheromone sprays, but he respects that Stevie’s operating with limited resources.

“Ugh,” David complains, and begins to ring up the items.

One of Patrick’s hands comes up David’s sweater, stroking up his back. It would be soothing if it weren’t bare skin and David’s hands full of sex supplies David had wanted to use on him.

Patrick leans in so close that his lips brush David’s earlobe as he whispers, “Don’t worry, I set aside several of these too. And actually paid for it, unlike you.”

David’s stunned like someone set off a pleasurable grenade in his chest. He doesn’t manage a response, just turns on Patrick with a hot gaze.

“Oookay, still here,” Stevie reminds them.

“Like malware,” David mutters. He applies the friends and family discount because she’s the Waldorf to his Statler, even though he kind of hates her right now. Maybe she’ll be more tolerable if she does get some: it has been a while.

Patrick squeezes his waist, still up under his shirt like they’re teenagers groping. It’s a fond touch. Patrick really likes it when David is nice to people; it’s weird.

“You’re the best. Wish me luck tonight, I’m gonna go seduce someone hot and stupid.”

“Hot and stupid?” Patrick asks, an amused curl to his lips. David wants Stevie to leave so they can kiss again.

“Historically, it’s been my type,” Stevie says with a mischievous lilt to her chin. It takes a moment for her jab to register, but then David’s jaw drops.

“Rude! And — false!”

“Have you ever told Patrick what _you_ thought a dollar store was?” Stevie’s eyes are bright. David snorts. It’s actually not even the worst example she could pull out, but most of the others are about taxes and minimum wages and benefits — stories Patrick already had to hear, to help David run a business.

Well, at least he still gets to be hot.

“Betrayal, and after I gave you a discount on flavored condoms that I had plans for!” David exclaims. Patrick has a coughing fit. “See if I ever wingman for you again.”

Stevie’s eyebrows furrow. “David, you are the worst wingman I have ever seen, you know that, right?”

David can’t believe that this is his life, with his best friend slandering him in his very own store. “Am not!”

“If you couldn’t find a random to talk to, you’d spend the whole night glommed onto me, complaining,” Stevie says, which might be true, but it’s not like the pickings weren’t slim for her too: she did plenty of glomming herself. “And twice — no, three times! Three! You ‘borrowed’ the randoms I was talking to.”

Patrick’s gone stiff against David, the hand on his back wooden. He clears his throat before asking, “Randoms?”

Stevie notices and backtracks, panicky eyes catching David’s. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just. You know. Unnamed extras. One-night cameos.”

“Hm.” Patrick steps farther back. He hands David his croissant. “This is going to get cold, you should eat it — and I should go.”

A sandspur catches in David’s throat, barbed and panicky. Patrick knows that his past has been… adventurous, to say the least. He’s never cared before, except to express his sadness that people had been less than gentle with David’s feelings, sometimes. David doesn’t know why this is landing so wrong. He shooes Stevie away, and she shoots him a last apologetic look before there’s the chime of the door closing behind her.

“Hey,” David says, and kisses Patrick again. Patrick’s breathing kind of hard. “We okay?”

Patrick leans in for a second lingering kiss. “Of course. I’ll see you later today.”

After he pulls away, he shuffles out of the store without looking back at David once.

Just like that, David’s alone. He sits on the counter. His heart is a metronome set to the highest tempo. He can hear it pounding in his ears.

There’s a steady stream of customers, after that. He’s only able to steal bites of his croissant between ringing people up.

David’s sick to his stomach, but it tastes amazing anyway.

Hours pass before his phone buzzes, the vibration nearly flinging it from the countertop.

 **Patrick [4:32 PM]:** David

 **David [4:36 PM]:** Patrick

 **David [4:36 PM]:** What’s up?

 **Patrick [4:36]:** can you come right over after you close the store

 **Patrick [4:36]:** or sooner

David flips the store sign to closed, and makes an unapologetic face at the customer walking up the steps. The woman looking at body butter is taking forever to decide between lavender and bergamot, but it gives David time to do the bare minimum he needs to call it a day. After ringing her up, he follows her right out the front door and locks it behind him.

He wishes he had the car today so he would be there already, but it’s probably for the best. He wouldn’t be a safe driver with his head spinning. So he spends the walk to Ray’s calming himself down with 1-2-3-4 breaths. There’s no reason to think Patrick’s breaking up with him. If Patrick had cared that David had a high body count, it would have come up before their first date, not after they’d gotten deep enough to say _I love you_. He can feel his heart rate slowing down, so maybe the years of therapy were good for something. He misses recreational Xanax, though.

He only has to knock once before Patrick opens the door for him. Patrick is red like crushed strawberries and he beams when he sees David. He herds David upstairs, saying, “Quick, we have an hour and a half until Ray—”

Patrick is pushing David down onto the bed and biting his lips by the time David realizes. It takes some effort to extract himself, but he does, and says, “Oh, so this is — a sex thing.”

Patrick is already breathing really hard. He’s so hot for it; David wants to know what got him this hot. Patrick’s voice is cracking and throaty when he speaks. “Yes, what did you. Think. It was.”

“I thought it was a fight,” David says, and locks his knee against Patrick’s thigh, uses his weight to flip them over. Once David’s on top, he pins Patrick to the bed. “I’m glad it’s this instead. What is this, though?”

Patrick sometimes has trouble vocalizing what he wants, and David is patient: he lets the silence stretch like taffy.

In a lot of ways, he and Patrick are still taking it slow. Even with all the sex they’re having (frequent, long, mind-blowing sex) they’re both steadily discovering what Patrick likes. It’s all been vanilla, which is great — David loves vanilla sex, and he loves it even more with Patrick. But it means this could be about anything, really.  David has done… lots of things, almost everything, things that made him quake and scream, things that made his skin crawl. He wants to let Patrick set the pace, to only have what he’s ready for, to only have things that are good for him. He wants to give Patrick whatever this is, if Patrick will just tell him how.

“It’s, uh,” Patrick swallows, frustration clear on his face. “David, I’ve been so turned on, I had to run out of the store — I sped home and then I got myself off, thinking of you and me—”

David’s whole body throbs with a bolt of pleasure so acute it hurts. He raises Patrick’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles, a thank you. He tugs a little at Patrick’s hair. “Tell me.”

 “I want to be your random,” Patrick says, “I’ve never done that before, I don’t even know what it would be like. But. I can imagine. I want it.”

David thrills. He hadn’t guessed they’d start with roleplay (honestly, he’s been kind of dying to introduce Patrick to vibrators) but he’s into this fantasy, and he’s _very_ into the wild look in Patrick’s eyes.

 He says, “We could go out and pretend.”

Patrick actually shivers, like there’s nothing more he wants than to be in a seedy bar pretending David is a stranger, going through the motions of anonymous seduction. David is overcome with a vision of pushing Patrick into a bathroom stall and dropping to his knees. Patrick says, “Yes, another time, please — right now, can you talk to me?”

This is something they do a lot of, though usually not in person. It’s so hard to get privacy that too many nights are spent muttering into the phone, listening to Patrick come over a staticky connection. David settles into it, worn and comfortable. His thighs clench around where he’s straddling Patrick’s gorgeous hips. They’re both fully clothed and David feels too hot under his sweater. He croaks, “Yes.”

 “What would you look for?”

 Women, usually, unless he was at a gay bar or a man flirted with him first — the first time he checked Grindr after moving here, he saw how few needles were in this haystack. He would look for someone who looked like they wanted to make him come and kick him out before dawn. Instead he says, “I would have noticed you.”

 He leans down to kiss Patrick. Patrick fucks his mouth with his tongue, a hot steady rhythm that has David desperate for them to be naked, for Patrick to be inside of him. He’s overheated, can hardly think, but he tries to remember that they’re on the clock for privacy. He stops thinking when Patrick bites at the spot under his ear. David’s elbows collapse and his full weight lands on Patrick.

 Patrick makes a frustrated little noise and repeats himself, tugging hard on David’s hair. “What would you have noticed, what were you _looking for—”_

 “Your posture,” David says, and Patrick falls back against the pillows. His flush looks less hot for it now, and more embarrassed.

 “If you don’t want to do this, you could have just said.”

 “No, I’m serious,” David says, getting a hand around the back of Patrick’s neck and guiding his lips back up. Patrick obliges and kisses the tender spot he bit. “The way you carry yourself is sexy. I’m picturing you leaning against the oak bar and — the hard set of your shoulders, the steel in your spine. You look like someone who gets what he wants. I’d want you to want me.”

 “I would want you: David, I would want you.” Patrick says. David rolls his hips, grinding against the outline of Patrick’s hard cock through his Levi’s. Patrick groans and grips David’s thighs with eager hands, guides their rhythm.

 “What are you drinking?”

 Patrick laughs, breathless. David has to lean down, then, and kiss it from his lips. “Depends. A beer. Or, whiskey, if I’ve seen you — I’d want to talk to you, but I’d be too nervous.”

 “You’re drinking a beer,” David decides, “I’d notice your lips against the bottle, too.”

 He sucks on Patrick’s lower lip to prove it, moaning into Patrick’s mouth when Patrick rocks his hips up.

 “Would you come hit on me?”

 “Not if I hadn’t known you liked men,” David says, honest, “But I’d want to. I’d come order a drink and stand next to you… if the bar is busy, I’d have to stand close. I’d reach over you to get my drink.”

 David picks up his weight onto knees and elbows. They almost aren’t touching any more, and David can feel every atom spinning between them. David’s chest brushes Patrick’s with each of their ragged breaths.

 “You’d smell my cologne. Have you noticed I change where I put it, sometimes?”

 David watches Patrick’s abs flex through his thin blue shirt as Patrick strains closer to him. He noses at David’s neck, smelling him, like he had earlier today. He inhales deep like there’s really cologne there, not just the smell of David sweating into his bulky sweater after a long day at the shop. Patrick says, half a moan, “Yes.”

 “I’ve always done that, when I want to attract someone. Like Coco Chanel said: wear it where you want to be kissed.”

 Patrick’s pupils are blown wide. “Where?”

 David’s breath hitches and he runs his thumb along Patrick’s eyebrow. Softer than he means to, he says, “You know where.”

 Patrick has been studiously attentive from day one, noticing everything that made David’s lungs gasp or his eyes water or his whole body tremble. Patrick pushes at David’s shoulder until David rolls onto his back, moving so enthusiastically he nearly knocks his own breath out. Patrick pulls off David’s sweater and his undershirt. He folds them neatly and puts them on the nightstand, because he knows it distracts David to have them crumpled on the floor. God, David’s in love with him.

 Patrick knows where. He kisses the sensitive skin beneath the jut of David’s jaw. Patrick nuzzles his chin there too, roughing up his soft skin against David’s stubble, which is kind of weird but really hot. He kisses David’s neck, along the pulsepoint, along his Adam’s apple, along cording muscle. He bites down on David’s shoulder, the same place he bites when he comes fucking David from behind. Then his lips take a new path — gentle, against the fluttering pulse of his inner elbow, a peck on David’s wrist.

 David’s eyes well up with tears. He didn’t know he was so vulnerable to tenderness, until Patrick: before then, no one had ever tried it.

 “Babe.” David tugs at Patrick’s t-shirt until Patrick pulls away from sucking on David’s fingers. He lets David strip him.

 “At the bar, I’d have to try and kiss you,” Patrick says, desperate, “I wouldn’t be able to bear it, I’d explode, I’d be—”

 “You don’t even know my name yet,” David teases. He strokes Patrick’s pecs, one wet finger finding Patrick’s nipple. Patrick gives an agonized groan, and David obliges, “Hi, I’m David.” 

Patrick shifts his weight so that his cock is pressed against David’s thigh, and David gets no relief against his but air. “That’s what you’d say? That was your opening line in exclusive clubs and high-end bars?”

David can’t bear to admit the things he used to say. They made him feel dirty; not in the sexy way, just in the bad way. So he says, “Not when the guy I’m talking to looks like he’s about to explode. I don’t think I’d have to try harder. I think you’d be easy for it.”

Something cracks open in his chest at that. He wishes he hadn’t used the word easy. It’s too close to what people used to say to him.

But amusement shines bright in Patrick’s eyes. He grinds against David’s thigh, and David’s own hips thrust up, seeking anything and getting nothing. “Maybe. Wouldn’t you have a reputation to maintain, though?” 

“Fine,” David sighs, and actually thinks about it. He puts on his careless, seductive face: his _do you know who I am, where’s the ecstasy, you could have me if you wanted me_ face. Patrick touches the lines of David's smirk with gentle fingertips and his facade nearly breaks. David says, “You look like you could handle a pool cue. Come play on my team, there’s free drinks on my friend if we win.”

Patrick shifts so that he’s straddling David’s erection. David melts back into the sheets in pleasure. Patrick says, “And if we lose?”

David blinks slow with hooded eyes. “Then I’ll be surprised. I’ve got an eye for… talent. Was I wrong? Are you someone who loses, Patrick Brewer?”

“Oh, I’m gonna win that bet,” Patrick says with all the confidence that first made David want him, that made David trust him with Rose Apothecary, that David would have noticed in his countenance as soon as he walked into any bar.

“Just — fuck me,” David gasps out, fumbling with the button on Patrick’s jeans. He gets them open but doesn’t bother getting them off, just sticks his hand in to cup Patrick. Patrick’s so hard and leaking: there’s a wet spot that David wants to taste. Patrick shudders into the touch.

“Where?” Patrick asks, even as he’s thrusting against David’s palm, head thrown back, “A bathroom stall? Will you take me home? Where, David?”

“Anywhere, anywhere,” David promises, eyes fixed on the bulge of Patrick’s black briefs, “Patrick. Anywhere. I’d get on my knees for you against the pool table, if you wanted.”

Patrick pants ragged out of his parted lips, eyes blown as he gazes at David. He pulls David’s hand out of his pants and takes them off, then starts pulling David’s pants down as well.

 “I’m not going to last,” Patrick warns. “I’ve been about to come for hours, since — well, since I got myself off thinking about this once already and still couldn’t—”

“It’s okay, give it to me,” David says, and gropes Patrick’s ass. He hauls Patrick back on top of him. They both groan as their cocks rub together, finding a familiar give and take. Patrick's breath is hot against David's ear. David strains, wanting to hear every rhythmic catch each time he thrusts. David touches him everywhere, all of his sweaty skin on display, muscles shifting from his calves to his broad shoulders. Patrick chases their pleasure with his whole body: he never does things by halves. David's legs wrap around Patrick’s waist tighter. He locks his ankles, urging Patrick on. The bedsprings squeak furiously, quicker as Patrick gets closer to coming.

 It’s so good. David aches all over. He’s so close, and he wants it so badly, teetering on the edge of bliss. His whole body is wound tight and tingling. It’s going to be so good. He’s almost there. He just needs — he needs —

“David,” Patrick kisses him, sort of; mostly they are just groaning against each other’s lips.

David is crying again, but it’s okay: Patrick's face is against his, too near for him to notice. “I’d want you,” David says, voice cracking, “Patrick, I would have been looking for you, even if I hadn’t known it.”

Patrick moans as he comes. It lasts for ages and the ecstasy on Patrick’s face nearly tips David over. He rides it out against David, still thrusting, except everything is wetter now, fuck. He trembles in David’s arms. David can feel each aftershock as Patrick’s hips twitch, just teasing pressure where David needs it.

 Patrick rolls off of him, radiating that well-fucked glow that David loves. He laughs breathlessly, like he usually does after he comes — in disbelief, in joy, that sex can be like this.

He kisses the side of David’s hip, then smacks right where he kissed, hard. David gives a surprised moan.

“Lift up, so I can—” Patrick says, but he’s making his attentive scholar face, updating his mental spreadsheet of _What David Likes._ David feels electric. Patrick is a quick study; it’s never long before he tests things out, usually when David is least expecting it.

David lifts up his hips. Patrick peels off his underwear, which clings wetly from Patrick’s come and David’s leaking. Patrick moans softly like the sight is doing things for him, too. David is ablaze. He pleads, “I want to come.”

 “I’ll make you come,” Patrick says with all of his unbearably sexy assuredness. He kisses David’s hip again, right over the pink mark left by his hand. Then, he takes David’s cock into his mouth.

“Ohmygod,” David says, arching off the bed. One of his hands grips Patrick’s solid bicep, and the other pulls on his own hair to ground himself. Patrick is a Renaissance painting, serene: eyes closed and face relaxed as he chokes himself on David’s cock. His lips are puffy and bright red, with little purple teeth marks from how hard Patrick had bitten down when he’d come. David’s pleasure builds. It’s a struggle to keep still. He wants to thrash and dig his heels into the mattress and scream.

Patrick pulls off with a wet pop. His voice is just-fucked hoarse when he says, “David. Take it. Come on, I want you to —”

Patrick slides his hands between David’s ass and the bed, fingers digging into David so hard there will be bruises. And David likes that, and he’ll like it even more tomorrow when he can press into the soreness as he gets himself off, and maybe he will send Patrick a picture. Patrick uses his hands to urge David’s hips up, guiding him until he’s fucking Patrick’s mouth. David can’t breathe. His mouth is gasping but his lungs don’t move. _Take it_ , Patrick said, and David does. He chases it, burning up inside. It’s there, almost his, and Patrick is _his—_

David comes, white heat sliding down his spine and crackling in every direction. His vision swims. He spasms, and Patrick braces him through it, warm, steady. He sucks David until David has to pull him off, yanks him up so they can kiss through David’s aftershocks.

By the time David’s heart rate slows, they are just cuddling, all bare sweaty skin pressed together. Patrick plays with David’s hair.

David’s throat clicks as he swallows. “I’d have given you my number, in the bar. Would you have called me?”

“Babe,” Patrick murmurs. He kisses him, twice, quick like he couldn’t stop himself. “Yes, I would have called you.”

 “Good,” David says, and tries to get up. It's going to hurt Patrick to take off his briefs if they let the come dry any more; David’s pretty sure there are wet wipes in — he can’t get up. Patrick pulls him back into bed. He cradles David’s face in his palms, eyes searching. It’s probably obvious David had been overwhelmed earlier enough to cry. He tries to look away.

“I would’ve loved you already,” Patrick says. There’s steely confidence in the set of his eyebrows, the half smile on his lips. “I’ve loved you from the moment I met you, and I would’ve anywhere; in Ray’s living room or a Singles Week mixer; a Rose Video party or a seedy bar. In any universe, I’m yours.”

David’s head tilts; their foreheads touch. He’s so fucking lucky. “I love you.”

Patrick grins. “More than the croissant?”

“So much more, it’s not even close,” David admits, and kisses Patrick’s smiling lips. 

Patrick breaks away from the kiss with a snicker. “I can’t believe I made you close the store early to come have sex.”

David kind of can’t believe it either. He didn’t know that there was a physically attainable level of horniness that could make his practical, sensible boyfriend be so irresponsible. He whacks Patrick’s chest with all the strength he can muster, which is near none. “Yeah, you scared the fuck out of me!” 

“Why?”

“You were being so weird, and then you asked to me come right over. I thought it was bad!”

“Mm, sorry.” Patrick kisses David’s cheek and burrows closer into his embrace. "You just drive me wild. I didn't know I could feel like this — you're devastating, David Rose."

Patrick dozes against David’s chest. David smiles up at the ceiling, wheels spinning in his head faster than one of Alexis’ sports cars. Now that he knows there _is_ a physically attainable level of horniness — well. It just means David has an incentive to work harder to keep his boyfriend so turned on that he forgets all of their responsibilities.

Well. Maybe not all of them. Rose Apothecary would fall apart, if Patrick started spending more time in bedsheets than on spreadsheets.

But, speaking of Rose Apothecary — David bets that whatever box Patrick kept of Singles Week sex supplies would be a good place to start.

He falls asleep smiling.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I made a tumblr! Come hang out with me at helvetica-upstart.tumblr.com !


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